Scabs
by xtcetera
Summary: It isn't until that brush with death that you know what you truly want, even if your mind has been telling you different this whole time. Kakashi finds himself in that same predicament. Oneshot, inspired by the lyrics of Kasabuta by One Ok Rock. Departs a little from canon; Obito remains dead. First fanfiction, please drop some feedback! :)


**_Kasabuta (Scabs)_**

_Piling up, wanting more than that_

_It's the old scab's fault_

_Even when the itchiness and pain keep repeating, still_

_Is it concerning the wound licked love?_

* * *

Unbeknownst to most people, Kakashi was an early riser. They always assumed, because of his perpetual tardiness, that he only stumbled out of bed when the warm afternoon rays hit. Wake up, shower, breakfast, memorial stone - that was his routine. As it had been ever since his father committed suicide. On that day of his father's death, after a bout of bawling his eyes out, eleven year-old Kakashi had resumed his stoic facade, within the same week arriving promptly at seven in the morning to pay his respects - a tradition never broken since then (apart from the times he was sick, out of the village or having raging hangovers).

As the years passed, the raw wounds of bitterness and unfairness that he had felt, as well as the guilt, had slowly faded into scabs - it didn't hurt until someone plucked at them. Well, not so much the guilt. He still stubbornly believed that Obito's death was caused indirectly by him, no matter what others told him - _"It's not your fault," Rin had told him once, "You were only acting for the good of the mission," -_ but that didn't help much. Those who break the rules are scum, but those who abandon their friends are worse than scum. After Obito's death, he repeated those words over and over in his head like a mantra. And, as horrible and guilty as he had felt at the time, he could never bring himself to do anything (i.e. commit suicide), partly because his father had chosen the same cowardly way out, and partly because he had a part of Obito living inside him now, the cherished sharingan eye that would be his namesake in the years to come.

His parents, Obito, Rin, Minato. Kakashi wasn't the superstitious sort, but as he watched them pass on one by one, he couldn't help but wonder if there was some sort of curse. If he was a jinx. Then, without further internal debate, he assumed a cool exterior, built up over the years, a facade of eye-crinkles and unbelievably ridiculous excuses for his tardiness, of leaving others with the bill, of having his nose perpetually buried in a copy of _Icha, Icha _so that less people would try to initiate conversations with him. No one had tried to pry much. And that was okay. That was more than fine by him.

* * *

_It's not about the thing I want to get my hands on_

_Rather, I already don't know what I want_

* * *

Kakashi didn't know when he had started noticing Sakura in the way he did now. He noticed the angle of her eyes and how different moods could affect her eye colors - anger turned the emerald orbs into a dark shade of forest green, pleasure turned it a clear chartreuse. He liked the way she laughed, natural and easy on the ears, not like other girls he had met, whose faux high-pitched laughter grated on his nerves. He also started noticing the way she moved, fluid and graceful, even while fighting. Above all, he noticed her passion, the way her eyes lit and her flurried, excited hand movements whenever she talked about something she liked.

At first, he had denied the attraction. She was too young for him. She was a former student. Those two excuses always popped into his mind. But far beyond that, he knew there was something else in the way. Everyone close to him at some point or another had died, and he did _not_ want that to happen to her.

He knew it was illogical, but he stubbornly refused to allow himself to develop any sort of feelings for her that went beyond attraction. He kept her and the rest of his team at arm's length. No one slipped through his calm exterior, and he was always at a friendly distance - close enough to smile, laugh and joke around, but not too close - not too close that if someone died, the hurt would be irreparable.

But as time passed, Sakura broke down that facade. He didn't know if it was intentional on her part. She had slipped in slyly, past the warning signs that had flashed in his mind, past the guarded walls that he had erected to distance himself from everyone. Always, after he had returned from particularly dangerous missions, there would a loud knocking at his door, a long reprimand for not going to the hospital despite being covered with numerous injuries - _"Ma, Sakura-chan, you know I hate hospitals," he would say with a hand running sheepishly through his hair _- and then her huffing in frustration and rolling her eyes but staying as long as was needed to heal him good anyway.

After Sasuke left, she took extra care to make sure Team Seven was united; packing bentos for all of them during training, dragging all of them - him included - to festivals, something which he never went to before her firm insistence, cooking fortnightly team dinners, and overall knitting them together stronger than ever before. No one said anything, but it was an unspoken message to all of them: _We aren't going to be separated ever again, got it?_

It was in this way that she had slowly crept into his heart, and he tried harder than ever to block out the fluttery feelings in his stomach whenever he saw her, opting to take extra long missions out of the village in hope of killing those unneeded emotions.

* * *

_The me that is completely cold and frozen_

_I just want medicine that works well_

_Tearing off, again, staining it with red_

_Even then pretending not to notice_

_The past's pain speaks for itself_

_But you know..._

* * *

And it had worked, somewhat. The distance was there again. He went on with his life, taking mission after A-ranked mission, and being noncommunicable for long periods of time. As far as he knew, she continued work at the hospital, and after three years (read: 5 A-ranked missions), at the age of nineteen, Haruno Sakura was the head of the department of medical science and personal assistant to the Hokage herself. He allowed himself to well up with pride at her accomplishment, but quashed any other feelings that was more than platonic.

So he kept quiet about his feelings as he had always done. Other than casual greetings of hellos and goodbyes when they bumped into each other outside of missions, he kept well to himself and spent his time training, honing his skills, even taking care to use different training grounds each time so that he wouldn't be found by his teammates easily. Everything was going as he planned, and after a while, he could almost believe that he wasn't attracted to her anymore.

Then they were sent out together on an S-ranked reconnaissance mission that went horribly awry.

* * *

_Rescuing, falling down, love that is like water_

_I can't moisten something that I have drained out_

_Even that slight warmth that remained in my palm_

_Gradually drying up, again, it keeps repeating_

* * *

Everything was hazy. It was as if something heavy and moist descended upon him. And it hurt. _Stop it. _He jerked his leg, his fingers twitching. He couldn't make out anything other than smoky figures, painted oddly in monochrome, and the dull roaring in his ears. His breath came in shallow pants as the voice above him played out in slow motion. "Stop it! Stop moving..." An unfocused blur of pink, and he felt hands pressing down in the front of his torn flak jacket.

_Sakura?_

He tried to say her name, but all that came out was a throaty rasp. His arm lifted, and he felt a wave of emotion rush over him when he felt slender fingers intertwine with his. "You have to stop moving, I mean it," he heard her say, and this he did, relaxing his muscles as he felt relief wash over him at the fact that she was by his side. He felt like he was drifting, everything felt so hazy. His eyelids started to droop as black spots clouded his vision. He was losing consciousness. "No, don't go to sleep. Please, please just hang on..."

He tried to, really tried. She kept talking to him, reassuring him that everything was okay, and that he had been stabbed twice in the gut, but that she was healing him, that she had taken care of the rest of their enemies, and for god's sakes _stop trying to move _because it would only make the blood flow out faster but all he could focus on was her fingers hovering above his ruined jacket, emitting a healing glow, and her voice, which sounded so very angelic. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words. He loved her. He couldn't deny it any longer.

"Please, Kakashi..."

The feeling of tears hitting his face was the last straw. All those repressed feelings hit him with full force and a renewed sense of urgency, and there was an indescribable need to tell her, because if he was going to die right here and right now, he wanted her to know. She deserved to know.

* * *

_It's not enough..._

_It's not enough..._

* * *

"I love you."

He felt rather than saw her stiffen (he hadn't the energy to keep his eyes open any longer), then there was a long pause in which he wasn't sure if he was even in the realm of the living anymore. He could feel his heart was thumping like crazy, almost palpitating out of his chest. Then something soft and warm pressed against his forehead.

Her lips.

His heart gave another jump and there was a flicker of hope.

"I love you, too. So don't die on me, okay?"

He couldn't help but smile as he felt a huge weight lift from his chest, a weight he didn't even know existed. The scabs were healed. They were merely scars now.


End file.
